The game I used to knowTook blow after blow Sentons, to you I now bow How could I sink so low I hear them crow Why is the game so slowIs this just a show Let the rage flow Sentons, to you I oweMy change from pro to joe Please let me go

The only place to still play 3650 Sentons day after dayFoley doesnt join just why Cant he hear me cry?Together with my Dogler the loyal knight We play like in the old days, night by nightAnd still something doesnt feel right The hunger died, replaced by blight A return to the old tryharding out of sightOnly one disciple is still training strong Pushing sandbox at least 10 hours longFor his efforts he shall be included in this song Im off, to enjoy some beer pong Just kidding, as if i would long for RL stuff, that would be wrong Goodnight.

If survival of the fittest applies to this lobby It could be time to find a new hobby Total vet FFA has taken over Take me back to 3v3 6-leaf cloverWithout a lvl 1100 ACU 6 million HP, thats true But even upgrading the bugged energy lanceIs better than what has become FAF balance

Also somebody locked the mod vault and lost the keySo nobody can upload to escape the ACU HPAt least everybody can watch aeolus with glee Where anybody can add to the salty sea

I never thought the day would comeBut it is here, I feel so dumbFAF is better with mods than withoutAnd finally ended, is my playing drought.It seems to bring back an old mentalityStrategizing, planning, and the search for originalityAnd yet I feel free from the shadow of an old viceThe lack of salt feels nice.Don't get me wrong, from time to timeWhen the bugs reveal their ugly slimeThe salt can emerge, but not as muchAs on that putrid mess called Seton's Clutch.

She harbored some dreamsof living under blissful trees,of waking to a fair new mornthat would lend us new-bornOur hours of endless fun,gilt by that rising sweet sun

But the beach is in dusk,and the joy buried in dust;Those waves so azurenow await their erasure

Ah, the famed waters of Setons,a sea that distracted my demons;You were an image sewn in despair,to hide a void of lethal affair,a shelter like a womb,now a pathway to my tomb

Through you I breathe,through you I cease,when you die,so do I------

What about an ode to the sublime beauty of sea-lying wrecks?Surely I am not alone with these reverent feelings that owe theirardent duty to those long sleek hulls that sleep in deep wet beds?

Oh, you rusting carapaces of maturing mass,that supply us the means to fulfill our dreams;Your divine shapes make commanders your pawns,And at the beach bid them dance to your tunes;The ecstatic sounds of moaning steel, seductivelyscuttling under the azure face of Setons soft waves.Were it not for the sun, who with her golden honey beamslights those enchanted depths, I bet, that the thankless seaWould hide those goods with a jealous plea:"No no, don't look here, this is only a massless field!"

Ah, you late noble Summits and drowned fierce Neptunes,glimmering ex-Galaxies and sunken good Omens,There is not a sight that would rival your shapes!(but, perhaps, the towering forms of a fallen black Czar;but that, is a song for another mouth to sing)

And though the gloomy galleriesof oceans great treasuresare from me by time now denied,Sometimes still, in my secret dreams,I hear you speak, and tremble at these wordsthat your sweet rusting lips utter in my ear:'Reclaim me like one of your French wrecks'